


Perception is Everything

by JulzSnape



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bi-Curiosity, Curiosity, Domestic Life at 221B Baker Street, First Kiss, Godfather Sherlock, I am Johnlocked, Intelligent Rosie, John in Denial About His Sexuality, John's Inner Monologue, John's POV, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Oblivious John, Parent-Child Relationship, Post S4, Post-TFP, Precocious toddler, Prompt Fic, Romance, Rosie is devious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 05:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12125769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulzSnape/pseuds/JulzSnape
Summary: Five year old Rosie Watson becomes curious after her first exposure to 'gay people'. Her curiosity and penchant for asking blunt questions gets John into a bit of a tight spot with Sherlock. Only, Rosie may have been a bit more calculating with her questions than her father and Godfather ever expected.





	Perception is Everything

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this based on a prompt I saw on my Facebook group "I am JohnLocked: Fan Fiction Writers and Readers". I decided to take a crack at it, and for the first time in a LONG TIME, I sat down and busted out an entire one shot in one sitting! It feels good to write again!
> 
> I do not own any of these characters, or the world in which they live. All rights to Sherlock Holmes belong to ACD and BBC. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.

“Daddy, is Sherlock gay?”

John nearly spit out the sip of tea he had just taken. The last thing he expected to hear out of his five year old daughter’s mouth was a question about his best mate’s sexuality.

John had tried his damndest to make sure that he didn’t overly censor the world around Rosie. He wanted to protect her innocence, naturally, but he tried to never lie to her or sugar coat things too much when it came to sensitive topics. Of course, having Sherlock around meant that there were plenty of sensitive topics, and John had had to give an anatomy lesson more than a few times upon Rosie discovery various body parts in the fridge. She was always fascinated instead of horrified, John was glad to note. Perhaps she had a career in medicine in her future as well.

John and Rosie had been watching television a few nights previous while Sherlock was at Bart’s lab working on a case, when an advert for a department store had featured a gay couple. Rosie had asked John why the two men were holding hands, and in the interest of full disclosure, John had said that they were gay and in a relationship together. He then further explained that being ‘gay’ meant that a person of one gender was attracted to people of that same gender. Of course, that was a more than far oversimplified explanation, but she was five, and any more detail would have gone in one ear and out the other. She seemed to understand the basic concept nonetheless, and John was glad that that hurdle was over and had taken place in the privacy of their home instead of at a busy shopping centre.

“Er – Rosie, love, why do you ask?” John couldn’t think of a time Rosie would have seen Sherlock in a situation where she would perceive him as ‘gay’. Never mind that John had been wondering that same thing himself since the moment he had met the mad detective.

“Because he looks at you the same way those blokes in the advert looked at each other, and you said they were gay. So does that mean Sherlock is gay too?”

John could feel his cheeks burning as he cleared his throat reflexively. Out of the mouths of babes... John folded away the newspaper he had been attempting to read and set his cup of tea aside; this clearly called for a conversation. He stood from his armchair and folded his creaking frame down onto the floor beside Rosie, who had been coloring in a coloring book full of poisonous plants that Sherlock had given to her.

“Well, love, some people aren’t really either gay or straight. There are things in between, and sometimes people just don’t feel that way about anyone of any gender. I – I’m not positive if Sherlock is gay or not,” John explained, “I mean, one time a woman sent him over 57 text messages in a row, so he’s probably not.”

He belatedly realized that he probably should have left that last bit out, but Rosie was already back to coloring in a Lily-of-the-Valley with bright pink and dark purple crayons. She shrugged and said, “Ok.”

Well, that had been far less painful than John had been expecting. He struggled his way up off the floor, ruffling his daughter’s dirty blonde hair before sitting back down and opening the paper once more.

Crisis averted.

SH~JW

Dinner that night was actually a home cooked meal for once, instead of take away. John tried to make sure that Rosie didn’t eat too much junk food, but he was an awful cook, and Sherlock was far too lazy to do the cooking. Luckily, this meal of Shepherd’s Pie had been cooked in Mrs. Hudson’s home and not their own.

John had just finished pouring Rosie some milk to go with her dinner and sat down beside her. Sherlock was sitting across from them, sipping tea and picking at his dinner, as usual, while he went over a case file that Lestrade had dropped off earlier in the evening.

“Are you gay, Sherlock?”

John nearly choked to death on his mouthful of pie, but before he could reprimand Rosie for being rude, Sherlock glanced up, smiled at Rosie and said, “Yes,” before turning his attention back to the case file in front of him.

John only just managed not to drop his glass of water as he gaped at the man across from him. All these years that he had wondered, after The Woman and Janine and every other thing that had made John almost sure that Sherlock was straight – one simple question from a five year old and the cat was out of the bag.

“Oh, ok. Daddy, could you pass the butter, please?”

John numbly reached for the butter dish to pass to his daughter, only realizing after sticking his thumb in it that he was staring at Sherlock. Bloody hell, so he _was_ gay.

Sherlock was gay.

 _Sherlock_ was _gay_.

John felt as though he was having some huge epiphany, as if this very thing had never occurred to him before. After he and Sherlock had been confused for a couple so many bloody times, John had had to question his own sexuality more than once. That he never quite figured out the answer was neither here nor there.

Or was it?

Later that night, after he had tucked Rosie into bed upstairs, John decided to take a bath. He always did his best thinking in the bath. Soaking in the hot, soothing water, all of the times that John had tried to parse out his best mate’s sexuality came to the forefront of his mind. Every time, he had always concluded that Sherlock couldn’t be gay because of his interactions with The Woman and Janine, but he _could_ perhaps be bisexual. This then led to the question of why it mattered to John in the first place, and while he had convinced himself it was purely out of curiosity, he knew deep down that it was much more than that. No man thought about their male best mate’s sexuality that often just for giggles.

John and Sherlock had been through a lot together. Hell, ‘a lot’ was an understatement. They had been through hell and back and around again so many times that John had lost count. He had literally mourned the man like a widower mourns the death of his wife – John knew this to be true because he unfortunately had experienced both. While his relationships with Sherlock and Mary were two very different beasts, his grief felt just the same. The only reason he had got through it at all was for Rosie’s sake, and with Sherlock’s help.

John had considered that he might not be very straight after all, in hindsight. After losing Mary and experiencing the grief of losing someone he had truly been deeply in love with, he knew what it meant in regards to his feelings for Sherlock. He wasn’t so insecure about his masculinity that he couldn’t admit it, at least to himself. It had made many moments throughout his friendship with Sherlock make that much more sense. And if he considered the possibility that it may not be unrequited, John had nearly slapped himself for his obvious shortsightedness.

That being said, it had never changed anything between them. Or rather, John had made sure that nothing had changed. He had been so damn glad to have Sherlock back that he was terrified of rocking the boat, of risking his friendship with the detective to see if there was a potential for more.

John focused his time on Rosie and work, and still joined Sherlock on cases. He worked half-time as a GP, and half-time as the blogger for Sherlock Holmes – Consulting Detective. Honestly, he was happy, and he was fairly sure that Sherlock was happy as well. Sherlock had never given any indication that he was unhappy with his life as John’s best mate and Rosie’s Godfather. Had he?

John sighed as his roundabout thinking buzzed around in his head. He always ended up in this cyclical argument with himself, and it never got him anywhere. Perhaps he should take a page out of Rosie’s book and just talk to Sherlock instead of making assumptions. The very thought terrified him, but if his five year old could be upfront and honest, then it was perhaps his turn to suck it up and deal with it, once and for all.

John took a deep breath to prepare himself, and then climbed out of the now tepid bath water. He dried himself off and pulled his dressing gown on before wiping the fog from the mirror and giving himself a stern look. He could do this. Sherlock was his best mate, and if he couldn’t be honest with him, then something was clearly wrong.

The first thing Sherlock said when John walked into the sitting room was, “I made tea,” and John instantly knew that Sherlock had been expecting a serious conversation, the damn perceptive bugger. The only time Sherlock deigned to make tea was when he knew John was upset, or when they had serious conversations about one thing or another.

John sat down in the armchair across from Sherlock and took his time blowing over his tea before taking a sip, conveniently avoiding Sherlock’s gaze. If Sherlock knew this conversation had been coming, then he clearly had something to say. Perhaps he should let the detective lead.

“Rosie is a very perceptive little girl, John,” Sherlock said as he stippled his fingers under his chin and fixed his intense gaze on the doctor.

John snorted, almost nosing hot tea. Perceptive didn’t even begin to describe his keen-minded toddler. He cleared his throat and took a sip of his tea before setting it aside; this conversation needed his full attention. “Er – yeah, I gathered that.”

“Do you know, when you went downstairs to return Mrs. Hudson’s crockery after dinner, I asked Rosie why she had asked about my sexuality. She’s a precocious little thing, but I’ll admit I was a bit caught off guard by the question. Do you know what she said?”

John sighed and rubbed his forehead, his cheeks flaming with embarrassment once more. There’s nothing like a child’s innocent honesty to land a parent in hot, awkward water. “I’ll bet it had something to do with an advert she saw the other day.”

Sherlock smirked and huffed out a laugh. “She said ‘I don’t think it matters who’s gay or not, but I’m pretty sure my daddy loves you.’ Can you guess how I responded?”

Feeling his pulse skittering, John bit his lip and shook his head. “Can’t really say that I can, Sherlock.” Perceptive was far too kind a word for his daughter – manipulative little demon is what she was.

Sherlock leaned forward in his leather armchair and fixed John with a look he couldn’t quite identify. His unique, kaleidoscope eyes were warm, and his smile was small, but honest. “I told Rosie that it didn’t matter if I were gay or straight or whatever else, that I had always loved her daddy, and I always would.”

John made a noise somewhere between a nervous laugh and a gasp and hid his face in his hands. He had suspected, he had _hoped_ , but this was too much. Too open, too raw and exposing. He stayed hidden, too overwhelmed to even look at Sherlock right now. He jumped when he felt warm fingers wrap around his wrists and pull his hands away from his face.

“I have no expectations, John; I am simply just being honest. We always said that we would be open and honest with Rosie, and I stuck by that decision. There’s no need to be embarrassed.”

John was regretting that he was now looking up at Sherlock, who was standing over him. He felt off-keel, uneven, and he wanted to gain some ground back. He stood up so that he could face his best mate head-on, even if he was quite a bit shorter.

“I’m not embarrassed, Sherlock. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

Sherlock gave John a searching look. “Are you really? Because I don’t quite believe that you are.”

John’s palms were sweating as he clenched them at his side. He felt like they were at a precipice, and he was afraid to take the next step. “Well…I perhaps may have suspected before, but I was never sure. I never thought I’d hear you say it, bold as brass.”

Sherlock chuckled, his curls bouncing as he shook his head with exasperation. “I never thought I would say it either, but if a five year old child can sense the chemistry between us, I think it’s time we stopped dancing around it. I’m not ashamed, John.”

“Of course you’re not, why on earth _would_ you be?” John said, taken aback at Sherlock’s claim. He never thought that Sherlock was ashamed of his sexuality. He always assumed that Sherlock was still married to his work, as he stated before, and didn’t really care for relationships.

“Then why are you?”

Well, that was a hell of a question. Was he ashamed? John knew he was attracted to women and had loved multiple women, but he couldn’t deny that he was also attracted to the male form, and as for loving men – well.

“I’m not…I’m not _ashamed_ , Sherlock. I honestly don’t know what I am anymore. After all the shite we’ve been through together, I think I have to agree with Rosie – it doesn’t matter if I’m straight or gay or something in between. I think perhaps – perhaps I’ve always loved you too, it just took me the equivalent of an anvil to the head to realize it.”

Sherlock seemed stunned. His gaze was piercing and he couldn’t seem to find the right words for a moment. “I certainly never expected to hear those words come out of your mouth.”

John unclenched his fists and reached out to rub the lapel of Sherlock’s dressing gown between his thumb and forefinger. He traced the fabric with his fingers until his hand was at the back of Sherlock’s elegant neck. John let his fingers slide up into the silky curls at the detective’s nape.

“Then you’re not half as perceptive as a five year old, and isn’t that telling?”

Before he could second guess himself, John gently pulled Sherlock’s head down and finally got to feel how those Cupid’s bow lips felt against his own: divine, warm, soft. Effervescent.

John lost himself in the silky slide of lips against lips, his fingers woven through soft, gossamer curls. He nearly wept when he felt Sherlock wrap his arms around his waist, pulling him closer still. The kiss could have lasted only a minute, or perhaps an hour – John wasn’t quite sure, and couldn’t be arsed to care. When their lips parted, there was only a brief look of understanding passed between them before their lips met again.

Sometime later, after a dizzying haze of clothes being thrown about and hands all over both of their bodies, John and Sherlock lay in Sherlock’s bed, their legs and fingers entwined. A sheet had been pulled up as a cursory shield to their nudity, just in case Rosie decided to give them a wakeup call in the morning, as she was wont to do.

“I think we should buy Rosie a present, don’t you?” asked John.

“A pony, or perhaps a castle?” replied Sherlock.

“I was thinking more like an ice lolly or a trip to the London zoo.”

“ _Boring!_ I know – we should take her on a case!”

“Absolutely not, Sherlock, I draw the line at showing our daughter crime scenes featuring murder victims.”

There was a ringing silence as both John and Sherlock realized what John had said, and what it meant for their relationship. Sherlock was the first to snap out of it.

“Maybe we could compromise with a kitten instead.”

“She does love cats.”

The End


End file.
